


The Return

by sapphicimplosion



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Post-Uncharted 4: A Thief's End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:21:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25045312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicimplosion/pseuds/sapphicimplosion
Summary: It’s been 5 years since the Avery incident. 5 years of pain and loss for Raphael Adler. But what happens when the cause of all his misery, Samuel Drake, shows up on his doorstep unexpectedly?
Relationships: Rafe Adler & Samuel Drake, Rafe Adler/Samuel Drake
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	The Return

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I’ve been replaying Uncharted during quarantine and just fell down the Sam/Rafe rabbit hole again. I haven’t checked for spelling errors so apologies for any typos:)

It was too early for him to be up. That would be the case if he'd actually gotten to sleep. His mind wandered through the darkest of his expeditions, memories so deeply disturbing to him he'd buried them in the furthest archive of his mind, isolated from the rest of his thoughts.

When they didn't seem to leave no matter how hard he tried, Rafe stood up, the soles of his feet creating a soft chafing sound against the carpeted floors of his lavish master bedroom. He wasn't sure where he was going, heck, this was so out of character for him that he wasn't even afraid of what the public would think of him stepping out like a time like this, in nothing but his pajamas and a pair of slippers because the public would never believe that Raphael Adler stepped foot out of his mansion like that. 

He pushed his hair out of his face, combing his fingers through it to smooth it back. Flashes of that day on Avery's ship took course of his mind in tufts of sleepless thoughts, like streams of consciousness that were set on taking away his ability to rest. 

The fire, the swords, the slashing.  
Sam.

Sam.

Sam.

His heart rattled uncontrollably against his chest, and he took in a deep breath in an attempt to still its erratic form as he pattered quickly down the polished stairs of his home, passing the kitchen in a haste to book it to the front door.

He needed fresh air. He needed to get outside.

Rafe stood in his front yard, in the distance, the dull glimmer of a beach in the slow rise of the sun. He sucked in a sharp breath, trying to control the trembling of his finger, trying to flatten the over-stimulus of his senses. 

But he couldn't. It replayed in his head like a macabre movie, explosions, blood, betrayals and all.

Sam.

He'd betrayed him. 

Rafe felt like a fool. He felt like a card that'd just been played in an attempt to secure the winning bet. Maybe this is how everyone in the corporate business felt around him.

But then again that was the corporate business.

This was the only person he'd ever grown fond of.

And now he was back, bringing a violent resurgence of memories that Rafe had filled with toxicity and pain in order to keep his mind straying to them, in order to prevent himself further pain by reliving the good parts. He tainted them all red, in a desperate attempt to keep himself focused on his work ethic and turn away from trials and tribulations of being burdened with what he felt.

Rafe cursed under his breath, wringing his hands so hard his knuckles had turn as white as porcelain. He felt angry, but what felt worse was he wasn't angry at Sam.

He was angry at himself.

He was furious at himself for letting Sam get to him, for flowing away from his one golden rule:  
Don't.trust.anyone.

He was furious at himself for letting it be Sam Drake of all people.  
Sam fucking Drake.

He was furious at himself for letting him back in. For letting him stay in his house the minute he came back seeking refuge and help. He was so angry that he could've easily turned away anyone else and told them to go live and deteriorate on the streets, but not him.

Not Sam. 

He should've told him to fuck off the day that hurricane of a man had stepped onto his front porch, tattered and bruised, 5 years after the Avery incident. Rafe had observed his tentativeness, the way he spoke in soft, gentle words to mask his panic but his eyes did nothing to hide the fact that he'd just escaped his potential demise once more. Sam tried to keep his tone apologetic but Rafe could hear the desperation in his voice.

He had no where to go, so he came back to him. His one winning card. The card that he always managed to play countless times without fail. The card that Rafe almost always took place of. 

He hated himself for it. He wished, he yearned the ability to push Sam away. To leave him on the street, covered in grime and dirt and scabs and wounds. 

But he couldn't. Not when he looked like that. Not with his hair sticking to the knife slash in his forehead, the blood from where his cheek as been scraped, the bruises all over him. 

It was only yesterday that Sam Drake had so easily waltzed back into Rafe's life, leaving him a mess while he slept peacefully in the comfort of Rafe's million dollar estate. That's how it always was, he came back, got what he wanted and left. He always fucking left.

Inconsistency may be one of Sam's habits but that was the one thing he was always consistent with. 

The irony would've been humorous if it wasn't happening to him.

Rafe shuddered, shoving his hands into his pockets. The sun was up a little higher now, rising above the mountains of the skyline before him timidly, as if it was afraid to come out. 

Maybe if he wasn't so lost in his thoughts he would've realized the footsteps behind him.

"Rafe?" 

Rafe flinched, feeling his heart jump against the brackets of his chest at the sudden intervention, "Jesus fucking christ, Sam, you scared the shit out of me,"

Sam shot Rafe an apologetic look, tucking a long strand of his own hair behind his ear and then rubbing his eyes. He was clean now, showered and bandaged, and dressed in a night-suit from one of Rafe's guest rooms. Rafe couldn't help but feel a pang of disheartenment, though he admired this look on Sam he much rather preferred Sam's individual ruggedness, with his denim jackets and beaten up boots.

No. Shut up. Don't admire anything about him. Don't prefer anything about him. 

Rafe, once again lost in his thoughts, failed to realize the concerned look that had graced Sam's features, his mouth set in a deep frown.

"Why are you up at this time?" Sam asked, softly. He was only testing the waters, making sure it was safe for him to stick his hand in the lion's mouth and not get bitten.

Then again, when is that ever safe?

He knew how unpredictable Rafe was. He knew that Rafe could easily pull out a gun and shoot him on the spot right now.

But he also knew he wouldn't do that.   
He saw it from the mirthless look in Rafe's eyes. Rafe was chameleon, a master of disguise and his years in the business world had given him the incredible ability to put on a mask, cover up his emotions so you could never know what he was thinking, how he was feeling. 

But there were times when that mask dropped, when he let the curtain fall, and though they were scarce and almost always involuntary, Sam had picked up a few tricks on how to identify what Rafe was feeling. He watched the left corner of Rafe's mouth twitch downwards, something he always did involuntarily when he was in a state of heavy panic and was about to implode. 

Rafe shook his head, sucking in a deep breath, and put the mask back on, this time set in a violent sneer that portrayed nothing but disgust and hatred.  
"Why the fuck do you care? Am I not allowed to do whatever the fuck I want on my property?" He retorted fiercely. 

But Sam saw through the façade. He saw the little circles Rafe was tracing with his thumb onto his own right hand. He saw the way his bottom lip was quivering ever so slightly, and the way his cheeks were in flames, a flood of bright red and a stark contrast to his usually placid face. 

And then, something Sam never expected to see, not even in the next hundred years. 

The sight of tears in Rafe's eyes. 

"I know you're not okay," Sam urged, his frown deepening as he stepped closer to Rafe, "Please talk to me,"

Rafe pursed his mouth into a thin line, as if he was physically fighting the urge to swing at Sam and knock him out. Fuck, he was so fucking frustrating. Why couldn't he just stay asleep, leave Rafe alone in own morbid headspace? He drew out the next few words between clenched teeth, a failing attempt to conceal his anger and discontent.   
"Sam, leave me the fuck alone," 

Rafe realized his own body had betrayed the barrier of his trust when he felt Sam reach out to touch his cheeks, wiping away tears that had escaped the confines of Rafe's now crumbling defenses. He flinched instinctively, leaning back and distancing himself from Sam, glaring at Sam as harshly as he could.  
"Don't fucking touch me!" He yelled in anguish.  
He breathed out a deep sigh, stroking his forehead, "Just, just go back to sleep, Sam, please,"

"Rafe-

"Please, Sam," 

"Rafe, come on-

"Sam, just go away,"

"I know you're not-

"GOD FUCKING DAMN IT SAM you just don't fucking get it do you?" Rafe shouted, a bellowing cry that sent a few birds around them scattering from the trees, "Just stop, fucking stop it, stop acting like you care, stop pretending to be here for me when you're just here for my money, my fiscal value, stop acting like you won't fucking betray me AGAIN after this and leave me here to fucking suffer in agony while you enjoy piña coladas with some hot air hostess," 

Rafe turned to face Sam, running a hand through his hair. He felt so scatter-brained, so out of control and he HATED it. He hated the fact that he couldn't establish control, that he couldn't keep himself at bay. It was the worst feeling he'd ever experienced. 

Sam blinked a few times, obviously a-taken back by Rafe's response. Rafe chuckled, glancing at his feet and then back up at Sam.

"I gave you what you wanted didn't I? I gave you refuge, shelter, a place to say while you got your shit together. What more do you fucking want from me, Sam?" 

"Rafe I-

Rafe moved closer, his posture straightening itself out making him look much older and frightening than he was, "You may have forgotten about Avery's ship, you may have gotten over that, you may have fully recovered but I haven't. You messed me up, you messed me up fucking bad Sam," 

He jabs his finger in Sam's chest, and a pained expression graces Sam's face, that makes Rafe's own heart ache but he can't seem to stop. He doesn't want to stop. No, fuck him. He can deal with a few minutes of pain, when Rafe had to endure it for years.   
"You destroyed me, you destroyed my focus and my ability to work without having a panic attack every fucking day, do you know what one feels like, Samuel?"

Sam stayed silent to which Rafe shook his head, "Of course you don't, to you it's the fucking waltz, step in, take what you need and leave, leave with no concern of the consequences of what you've done, as long as you've got what you needed," 

He laughs, flailing his arms, "Unbelievable. I go to therapy for years, finally start improving, finally start getting myself back together and here you come yet again, dancing back into my life without a care in the world, not a fuck to give, right Sam?" 

God he wanted to cry so bad. He wanted to break down into shambles of tears, let out all of his built up frustration and just scream. But he couldn't, he wouldn't let himself be seen as weak like that, not in front of him.

Sam felt a dull ache begin to spread through his chest, one similar to one he'd get repeatedly everytime he thought of Rafe after what happened on Avery's ship. It felt like the strings of his heart had begun to snap, letting it drop into the pit of his stomach.

He hated this so much.  
God, he hated it so much.

He wanted to hug Rafe, to kiss him again, to tell him that walking away from him, abandoning him was the hardest thing he ever had to do and that not a day passed where he didn't regret it, where he didn't sit down and think for hours on end about Rafe, about how Rafe would be doing, about how every time he got romantically involved with someone, he wouldn't be able to get past second base with them because thoughts of Rafe would invade his mind and he'd have to stop.

But he stayed silent, with his head hung low. In the end he knew that Rafe got the short end of the stick. That he fucked Rafe up bad and that there was nothing he could do to make up for it.

Rafe's lip quivered more vividly this time, as if it was the only thing hold on back the dam of his emotions that was about to break and take everything down with it. He was visibly on the verge of tears, as he uttered the next few words, "Fuck you, Sam, fuck you, I've never despised anyone more than I do you, and yet I still give you a place in my home, in my place of sanctity, even if you pollute the place and rid it of it's ability to make me feel safe, and this is how you repay me?" 

"Rafe, baby, I'm so sorry-

Rafe put up his hand, silencing Sam immediately, "Don't," He sniffled, "Just don't,"   
He turned to face Sam, this time the mask he'd put on was stone cold, one that'd make politicians hide in fear. A perfect poker face, just like his expression always was, empty eyes, a placid mouth. Nothing given away.   
He crossed his arms, "Go back to sleep, Samuel, you'll be leaving later in the afternoon, I'll assign a chauffeur to take you to a hotel nearby and I'll get you a month long booking for a room, make sure you have your shit packed or whatever you came here with," 

"I'm not leaving," 

"Yes you are,"

"No, fuck you, I'm not leaving, I'm not moving an inch off of this property until you listen to me," 

"If you don't I'll- 

"What? Call the cops? Yeah right, Rafe," Rafe stayed silent, or maybe he paused to think of a calculated response. Sam took this opportunity as his own to speak, "I'm sorry for what happened, I'm so fucking sorry, Rafe. God, god I wanted to come back for you so fucking bad and I regretted not doing it every single day of my life and I promise you that,"

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Look, I know you hate me, and you have every right to, I know I can never make this up to you, so I'm sorry,"

Rafe kept his eyes set on the ground, his vision blurred by a flurry of his tears. Frustration coursed like magma through his body, and he felt the urge to smash his fist into Sam's face so hard he'd shatter his own knuckles.   
Sam took him by the wrist, forcing him to turn around. Rafe's eyes fluttered up involuntarily and god he wished they hadn't. He found himself staring in the eyes of an old friend, more than a friend, a partner in crime, a soulmate.

A lover. 

He loved Sam's eyes, he remembered them so well, all the details, the crinkles, the folds in his lids, the sweep of thick eyelashes that hooded them. Out of it all he loved the brown of his eyes most, like the embers of a winter fire, it was warm and inviting yet so hypnotic, carrying smaller flecks of gold that you could only see if you were so up close you could feel Sam's heavy breath on your face, against your cheeks. 

They were so different to the eyes he'd seen his whole life, cold and harsh- stern looks and angry gazes that kept him frozen in a state of melancholy no matter how he tried to get them out of his head. 

He didn't know when his lips found their way to Sam's.

It was a tender kiss, a sort of goodbye, soft and slow yet painful. Sam's lips were just as he remembered, smooth, supple.

When they finally broke apart so did Rafe's heart, once more. Those years of therapy, those years of trying to forget everything, had just been deemed useless in a matter of seconds.

All the feelings came rushing back.

I fucking hate love.

"Rafe-

"I'm going back to sleep. Morris will take you to your hotel tomorrow morning, you'll have everything you need there, Morris will stay with you for as long as you require his service,"  
Rafe took a trembling breath, steadying himself, holding himself together with the last strand of dignity he had left in his body, "Goodnight, Sam, I hope we never meet again," 

And just like that he walked away. 

Rafe hadn't spent his nights or days sobbing since the night of Avery's ship. 

And it'd been way too long since Sam had cried real, heartfelt tears in a cab.


End file.
